What the Forgotten Remember
by Sumhope
Summary: Upon Susan's return to London she finds that everything has changed.
1. What the Forgotten Remember

**Disclaimer:** Of course I don't own Narnia. All the Christian metaphors- please I'm an atheist people. Definately not mine.

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**What the Forgotten Remember**

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Something bitter and small has filled her up.

She knows this and yet is too angry to care.

Sometimes she does not know who she is angry at. At the time she hadn't thought to ask Aslan could they not return? Why did they have to go in the first place? Why had he done this to them? _Why?_

She feels too old for her young body, too old for the classrooms she sits in and the girls who curl their hair and talk of boys and lipstick shades.

The planes in the sky and the posters on the walls scream of war and people walk quietly through the streets with their heads down and shoulders low and the grayness of it stifles her soul.

The green isles of her kingdom and cavernous valleys start to fade from her memory.

She begins to hate Aslan. What had once seemed like a blessed escape now remains as only the worst of cruelties in her mind.

She is tormented by the ghosts of things that once were, the velvet of heavy skirts and the feathery shafts of her arrows have been replaced by starch linen uniforms and leather patent shoes.

Lucy and Edmund return. She listens to them and tries to appear unaffected. They talk so animatedly about the dawn treader and its wide sweeping sails and she wonders if the light in their eyes ever really belonged in hers. Jealousy _swells_ in her chest and she breathes slowly and evenly, afraid they can see.

She dances and drinks and kisses boys with dark hair that looks and curls at the ends just like his. The eyes are always wrong so she drinks more until they almost look right. She lets them press her into the wall and tug at her clothes and_ tries_ to forget about an unnamed daughter of the stars and the prince who claims her as his.

_She tries to forget that she has been forgotten._

Once Peter is waiting for her when she stumbles through the door. He is frowning and the weight of his judgment dampers her buzz. The anger returns and she reminds him coldly that he is High King of no-one in this place. After that no one waits for her and she cannot decide whether she should cry or laugh at this. _Gentle Queen Susan has driven everyone away._

She is angry at them all. At Peter who seems fine with their exile. At Lucy and Edmund who still have what she does not. At Aslan who gave her everything and then took it _all_ away.

But as always her anger returns to him and she hates that he let her kiss him. She hates that he let her walk away. She _hates_ that he didn't stop her. Her hate for him burns deep in the dead center of her, like a stubborn ember that refuses to go out.

And it is only in the early hours of the morning when she is buttoning up her dress and wiping the taste of boy and champagne from her mouth that she allows herself to admit that what she feels is not hate at all.

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_fin_


	2. There is a Train

**Disclaimer:** Narnia is not mine, neither is the last line which I borrowed from Incepetion.

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**There is a Train**

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They crowned her to the Radiant Southern Sun. Gentle Queen Susan.

Her hair flowed long and full down her back, bare except for a simple gold circlet and delicate cherry blossoms of such pale pink they glowed ivory amongst her tresses. Her gown was heavy, swirling around her ankles. Her feet incased in the softest blue kid leather ankle boots. She wore a leather corset to match, with a darker dyed azure cord laced up the front. A heavy length of linked chain warmed itself golden against her neck and a feather the same brilliant maroon as her arrow shafts hung between the generous valley of her breasts.

She had danced that night under the stars and the great orange moon with the Wood spirits and the Druids and the Nymphs. She had spun round and round and round until the lights of the sky sparkled green and purple.

She had felt the deep red clay soil of Narnia under her skin. Felt the pounding of the waves underneath her eyelids. Felt the thrum beat of the wind race through her blood.

She had known then that she belonged to this land and it to her.

They called her beautiful.

They _had_ called her beautiful.

Now she traces the lines and groves on her face and tries to see what lies underneath the wrinkles of age on her skin. She tries to glimpse the girl of her youth.

Her once nimble, lithe hands are discolored, the skin uneven patches of tan and white and brown, the fingers curl in on themselves. She stretches them now, groaning to herself as the stiff arthritic joints pop painfully.

The eyes that stare back at her are clouded, misted by time and regret. Next to her in the room Margaret (or is it Mary- no Mary was the one before) moans pitifully on the bed, the beep of her machines and the shrill voices of her soap filling the static air.

She tries to replace it with the memory of Peters laugh, full and deep and boisterous. Because he _knows_ that the world is his for the taking.

The nurse comes with her lunch. 1:16 as always. It is the routine here, the constant pattern that bleeds everyday into a mind-melt of monogamy that drives her _mad_.

She hates that everything is mush and grey and soft on her plate and in her mouth. She would give anything for a turkish delight. She would even embrace Jadis as a sister. She would kiss the White Queen's Ginnarbrick on his small thin drawf-ish mouth for a set of teeth to eat it with. She laughs aloud at this, a croaked hoarse sound, because she can almost see Edmund with his mouth smeared all over with iced sugar.

Her children don't visit her anymore. They send her cards and call for the holidays. They tell her of their lives outside of this place and ask her how she is. _How is she?_

And what can she say to that? She should say that it smells here, of bleach and death. She should tell them about the sounds of pain that fill the air and how the bleak faces that stare back at her all say the same thing. They all are waiting for an end. Whether they've come here, or been sent here, they are all here for the same thing. They have come here to wait, and to die.

But she never says these things. She makes herself ask questions. She forces a smile into her voice.

There is a cork board filled with her cards hanging on the wall. Smiling Santas and Easter Bunnies and pilgrims chasing indians with turkey and gravy. Her children and their families posed in matching sweaters with choreographed smiles.

Her favorite is of her youngest granddaughter. There is something of Lucy in her. Perhaps it is the upturn of her noise or the cheeky quirk of her grin. The sight of it makes something ache deep inside her chest. A palpable pain.

She clings to that picture, watching it as if it will turn liquid and mobile. As if it will _swallow_ her up and take her from this place.

She thinks, as she always does, of that train, the one she _should_ have been on.

She want to think that it happened to quickly for thought. Perhaps there was just noise, a loud tearing scream of steel against steel and then it was over.

She traces the faint lines of blue under the translucent skin of her wrist and wonders. She wonders if they felt pain. If they knew that it was happening, if they felt the metal and glass cut through their skin and muscle and bones. If they lay there in their blood, limbs broken and bent, and watched the life bleed from each others eyes.

She's been waiting _so long_. A lifetime. She has been waiting, and she wants to go home.

There is no fear anymore, only anticipation and impatience.

Because there is a train that is coming, a train that will take her far away. She can't be sure where it will take her. But it doesn't matter- _because we'll be together_.

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_fin_


	3. King Caspian the Seafarer: Part 1

**AN: **The first in a three part ficlet.

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**King Caspian the Seafarer: Part 1**

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Caspian knows its doomed almost as soon as its begun.

He knows nothing can come of it. Ever. _Period. _

But he finds that he doesn't care. All that matters is that he can smell her skin, feel himself between her thighs, know that she is his. _He is hers. _

He almost goes after her. Almost parts the veil between his world and hers. _Almost. _

But he hears his uncles voice thick as syrup in his ear._ Never had a backbone did you boy. Afraid are you? Coward... _he hear Midas say in that way of his that always made Caspian feel small_, always were a coward._

Caspian can feel his breath stilling in his lungs and his limbs settling in their sockets and the shame makes his throat thicken in the most unpleasant way. And by the time he can unfreeze himself the moment is past and Aslan is gone _and it is too late_.

He throws himself into the work of running a kingdom with a fervent enthusiasm that is praised by the court. There is a strange pressure in his chest but he ignores it in favor of long decrees that must be written and resource lists that must be catalogued. The pressure grows until he feels restless and crowded as he watches his kingdom with the mountains circling his back. When his advisors tell him he has a year to pick a bride he knows that marriage is immanent and he can't run from the inevitability of his fate.

Under twilight he treads softly to the great tree with its split trunk and for a long time stands before it like he once used to, head bowed and eyes tightly shut, and _wishes_. He steps forward, waits to hear the roar of trains and planes, but when he opens his eyes all he can see is the mouth of the Great River. He dreams that night of open water and an endless horizon.

He leaves in the morning on a ship with an impossible mission and what feels like a smile on his lips for the first time in so long he can't remember.

For the next few months he throws himself into the work, Drinian shows him each part of the ship and what it take to keep it afloat. In the afternoon sun he trains with the sword with Reepicheep who is as fast as he is bold. The days are full and the wind fresh against his skin driving away thoughts of marriage and fate.

He goes to bed each night so exhausted that he can feel his eyes burning in their sockets and feel his bones settle into the mattress of his bed. But when he closes his eyes all he can see is the graceful arch of her neck and her strong nimble fingers. And he wonders if she is married with children of her own. There is an ache in his throat, a strange heat in his chest.

He decides to forget her. Resolves to put her behind him, to wipe her from his memory completely.

The next day over morning porridge he listens as the crew talks about lost lords, dragons, and creatures beyond imagining. Their enthusiasm is infectious and he feels adventure stir within his blood and tucks into his meal with more gusto that before.

An hour later he tries to not think of the sound of her laugh and instead stares at the sea and wanders what it would be like to sail off the edge of the world when _man overboard_ sounds from the starboard side.

He sees the tangle of dark hair and pale limbs first but doesn't _dare imagine_ because hope is already flaring in his chest far faster than it should. But then he sees Edmund's face break through the blue and he dives into the water, his heart thudding in his ears.

His arm finds her waist and if she feels smaller than she once did he doesn't seem to notice as he kicks up toward the light. They are hauled to the deck laughing and drenched and he turns to her blinking saltwater from his eyes.

She looks younger than he remembers.

But then it has been three years since he last saw her face and the memory of her has been growing dimmer as time passed. But he can still remember the slim gap between her teeth, the trinity of freckles on her throat. He blinks and he blinks but he can't find these things and a horrible feeling grows in his stomach, lodging at the base of his spine.

Edmund scrambles onto the ship all height and gangly limbs and shouts out _Lucy!_

Caspian feels his skin grow cold despite the warm sun. He feels his face cave in and it is several moments before he can fold it back to the way it should be. There is a terrible void inside him that he was sure wasn't there before. He is conscious that Edmund and Lucy are waiting for him to turn and speak to them as he aught but he is afraid to turn and see what his heart already knows.

His men are clamoring all around with the appearance of the new arrivals and he finds that he can breath a little easier with all the commotion. He blinks rapidly once more even there is no sea water to speak of left in his eyes and squares his shoulders.

King Caspian, Lord of Cair Paravel and Emperor of the Lone Islands forces a smile to his lips and turns to greet his guests.


	4. King Caspian the Seafarer: Part 2

**King Caspian the Seafarer: Part 2**

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Staring over the wine at the three of them Caspian felt oddly quiet inside. He knows he should feel more, and he will later. But for now a numbing calmness has settled over him and he is most grateful for it.

He tries not to look at Lucy, tries not to stare at her from the corner of his eyes and trace the similarities, because he can feel Edmund watching him. _Edmund who sees everything and knows just as much._ Instead he stares at the bottom of his glass and listens as Reepicheep tells them of the missing seven lords and the waters of the utter east.

That night as he stares at the hammock above him and listens to the rush of water slapping the sides of the ship, he feels himself begin to cry.

He hadn't cried in a very long time, not since the night he had fled from Telmarine. He had been flung from his horse and had the wind knocked from him and it had started to rain and he had felt like the world was ending. His world _had_ ended. Everything he was or was going to be was destroyed with his cousins birth and he was left with nothing in a world that seemed very lonely and horrible indeed. He had laid there in the mud and felt miserable and low and very sorry for himself. The tears had stung his eyes and he stayed like that, face down in the muck and cried for a very long time until the rain had finally stopped. Afterwards he had felt silly and childish, and angry at himself.

He felt that similar sensation now, his throat constricting and his face growing hot and he clenches his hands until he can feel the bite of his nails cutting through the skin of his palms. He tries to stop it, tries to swallow back the rising ball of emotion that was clawing its way up his throat. But it was no use. And for a very long time that night he lay there with wet eyes and clenched hands and pitiful _humiliating_ noises that ripped their way out of him. After he felt very empty and ashamed. He could feel his uncle's hot breath against his ear, his voice like acid against his nerves. For a long time he lay there very still and listened to the creak of the hammocks and the roar of the ocean until sleep finally came.

The next morning they land and the sun is warm and the grass is very green.

Lucy is laughing.

She smiles at him and his heart leaps in his chest. Caspian makes sure to focus on her eyes which are too blue, her hair which isn't long enough, her cheeks that are too wide. He grounds himself in these little inconsistencies. He makes his eyes tell his heart. _She is not Susan. _

The men underneath the tree are all smiles and false intentions. But that is not known until they are bound and headed toward the slavers boat. Whatever rage that has flared up inside of him quickly becomes something of a shock as he watches one man hand another 150 Calormene crescents to purchasehim.

Slaves were commonplace in Telmar but Caspian had never given them much thought. They were merely another aspect of the landscape of his childhood, another layer that never merited much consideration. He had never until that moment understood what it meant to not hold your life in your own two hands, to be looked at not as a man but a beast to be bartered and sold. He feels rage at this abasement. Mostly though he feels a kind of hopelessness as he watches the slavers boat with his friends disappear around the rocks.

His _owner_, the word taste vile in his mouth, beckons him to follow. He does, because what else should be done? The man has gentle eyes and asks him his name, where he was going, how he came to this place? But Caspian feels the iron cuffs cut into his wrists and drag at his ankles with each step and so says nothing. Only thinks again of her.

Much later, after Lord Bern has freed him and he is back with the others on the Dawn Treader, he wanders the empty deck with the dark sea all around him.

He finds Edmund in the shadows his face in his hands and a flask by his knees.

He joins him a moment later and for a long moment it is just the night and silence all around them. Then Edmund nudges the drink his way and Caspian reaches for the bottle and feels the liquid burn its way down his throat. He coughs loudly and Edmund smirks at him before taking the flask, throwing his head back and drinking deeply.

It is hard sometimes for him to remember that Edmund and Lucy with their young faces were once rulers. Emperors and Empresses. But as they sit there in the silence passing the drink between them, Edmund's face seems much more worn in the flickering shadows and Caspian finds he feels very young in comparison.

When Edmund finally speaks it is so soft and low Caspian has to lean forward to hear.

"It should have been Peter that was here, he would have never let..., ...I should have..."

"It's not your fault" Caspian is quick to tell him. It was _his_. Because what sort of King was he that he couldn't even protect his friends?

It is quiet again and Caspian begins to think that Edmund is done speaking all together. He feel the cold wetness of the deck seeping through his clothes but his skin is feverish with the thrum of alcohol in his blood and he finds he doesn't mind the cold.

When Edmund speaks again it is all at once in a rush of words and it takes all of Caspian's concentration to follow.

"They corner me in between class or after. It would be fine if it was just one or two, I could take one or two, but its always a group. Its like they know that I came here and was somebody other than what they are. Its like they can _smell_ this place on me and they hate it."

Caspian blinks, watches the colors explode underneath his eyelids, and tries to understand what he's hearing.

"I was just starting to forget you know. I was _making_ myself. I watch the others and I knew forgetting was the best way. Susan tries. But Peter still thinks himself a King. He talks about enlisting, talks about glory and honor. As if he's in the armory talking to the troops. I want to shake him and show him my bruises. Show him that this is not Narnia."

"Why do you think Aslan sent for us? What do you think he wants from us?" Edmund looks right at him and Caspian tries to think of something, _anything_ to say.

Sighing Edmund pushes himself to his feet, "I don't know why I told you any of it, just forget about it ok" and starts across the deck.

Caspian wants to call him back. _Susan tries,_ he had said. Caspian wants to ask him what he meant. But his mouth doesn't seem to belong to him and his mind is as fuzzy as the blurred corners of his vision. Sometime later he wakes with a start all alone. It was several hours before dawn and his clothes were misted with frost and his stomach was rolling and heaving with the rocking ship.

He barely makes it to the railing in time.

Sometime later, when he is stumbling back to his bunk and wiping the last of it from his mouth, he thinks about forgetting and knows that he never will.


	5. King Caspian the Seafarer: Part 3

**King Caspian the Seafarer: ********Part 3**

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He rises in the morning and eats with the crew, afternoons are spent up in the rigs until he knows every line and spar of the dawn treader. The nights grow warmer the further they sail and the days pass as seemingly as swiftly as the water underneath them.

When land at last stretches before them, and the roar of the beast splits the sky, he feels not even the smallest vestige of fear that so readily lived in his veins before. He drifts slowly down the beach and into the thicket of trees away from the others. Hours pass as he searches the sky and when the dragons howl sounds out again he runs toward it, sword beating a rythme against his thigh.

A dark shape blots out the sun and he cries out. Once, twice, three times more and waits. Long minutes pass before he turns back, disappointment heavy in his chest.

More islands come and go and lost lords are found until they at last reach this final island.

Ramandu refills their food stores and that night they dine on venison and lamb followed by more wine than they can drink. His goblet has been filled several times and his head buzzes pleasantly when she sits beside him, the silver of her sleeve brushing lightly against his arm.

She is beautiful of course, literally glowing. The daughter of a star.

She smiles shyly, coyly and takes small delicate bites beside him. He feels the approving eyes of all across the table and knows what they see. She will make the perfect queen.

Dawn sees them on their way and the memory of her small perfect hand in his own feels like the prison he has been running from all this time.

The water turns clear and sweet and shallow and at long last he sees an escape.

He calls for a small boat and his heart soars at the thought of the world's end. And despite how the crew object, saying that as the King of Narnia he has no right to abandon them, he feels no shame at what he is doing. The great knot of pain lodged in his throat feels less heavy and he is sure he will do this. He will.

And yet he finds himself standing and watching, once again, as he is left behind. Watches as the last remnants of her fade from his sight forever. Aslans words pound through his thoughts, wearing his anger smooth like the ocean waves against the rocky shore. They turn around and head toward his future, his duty, and the finality that will be his life.

At twilight he stands at the bow and stares into the wide unblemished horizon as the sun melts away.

He dreams that night of falling of the very edge of the earth. He opens his arms wide and smiles into the black.


End file.
